


Pressing Matters

by winged_mammal



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Arm Porn, F/F, Face-Sitting, Feelings, Feelings about arm porn, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-04 14:35:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5337701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winged_mammal/pseuds/winged_mammal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After The Devil You Know, Root finds Shaw in the gym. The inevitable ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set between The Devil You Know and The Cold War in a universe where they totally banged after Honor Among Thieves but that was the only time, and featuring a slightly different method of disturbing Harold than Root wearing a bear suit. 
> 
> My brain got a wonderful mental image of Shaw working out and ran with it, then decided "hey, you know what would be great? Angst. Make a second chapter full of angst." So, that happened.

Okay, so maybe it hadn’t been the most honorable thing Root had done in her life, making sure she was miles away from the subway station when Shaw came to after being drugged (again) and dragged around like a sack of potatoes (again) by Root (who else?). But Harold had told her only an hour ago that Shaw was awake, and Root is already back and she thinks that should count for something. 

She passes Harold on the stairs on her way in, and the desperate look in his eyes as he says he’s going out to get Shaw something to eat would be… well, it _is_ still amusing, even under the circumstances. They’re both almost insufferably endearing and the thought of Shaw’s expression if Root ever told her so, and the alarm that would inevitably be on Harold’s face, only serves to brighten her smile.

Somehow, after everything that’s happened, she has people.

Lionel can stick around too, she supposes. And John, if Harold insists.

Root hears Bear’s claws tapping on the concrete floor in the distance, and makes her way across the station knowing that wherever Bear is, Shaw is surely not far away. Desperation for a placating sandwich aside, Harold hadn’t given her much of an indication as to Shaw’s mood. But she’s a reasonable, well-trained former intelligence operative, she should understand Root’s actions given time to cool down. Although, Root supposes there’s only so many times she can render Shaw unconscious before patience starts to wear a little thin.

Whatever the case may be, Root made her bed and now it’s time for her to lie in it - although maybe that was the wrong metaphor for her to use as she rounds the corner to the makeshift gym that Shaw and John had set up and finds Bear curled up in a corner and Shaw -

Shaw is lying on the narrow weight bench, knees splayed out to either side, lifting what must be at least her own weight with admirable ease. Root stops short and stares, thankful Shaw is facing away from her so she can appreciate the view without disturbing her. Somehow the terrible decades-old incandescent lighting only serves to highlight Shaw’s muscles and the faint sheen of sweat that coats her skin, and Root has had the privilege of getting intimately close to those muscles once before but this is…

Yeah, this is going to keep Root company on lonely nights for a long, long time. No getting around that.

Shaw lets out a faint strained grunt as she straightens out her arms and holds the bar in place for a beat, and Root has to bite her lip to keep from whimpering. Her eyes trace along the curves of Shaw’s biceps and as she lowers the bar back down to her chest, Root’s gaze is drawn to the skin exposed by the cut of her tank top and the subtle flex of the muscles there. A patch of Shaw’s abdomen peeks out where her shirt has ridden up and Root stares, fixated on the way her hip bones disappear beneath her shorts and angle to frame the slight dips and swells of her stomach.

Shaw readjusts her grip on the bar before raising it again, powering through five quick reps with seemingly little effort and that’s as thoroughly unfair as it is intoxicating. How did she never notice how toned Shaw’s forearms are before? She distinctly remembers digging her nails into one of Shaw’s arms to keep her from stopping when she was fucking Root through the mattress after the nonsense with Tomas, but apparently Root was too far gone to fully appreciate the wonder she held in her hands. Although, Root realizes, letting her eyes linger on the twining of a vein from Shaw’s wrist, that muscle definition probably explains how Shaw was able to keep going without needing a rest until Root was too exhausted to move.

Root happily imagines wrapping her fingers around that forearm and feeling the strength and the flex of the tendons as Shaw’s hand moves inside her - her whole hand, maybe, if Shaw would be into that, and although Root’s never done it before she suddenly feels a pressing need to know what it feels like. Shaw’s wearing fingerless workout gloves that are probably covered in layers of old sweat grime and Root is kind of completely okay with the idea of Shaw not taking them off and just playing with Root’s clit if it meant she’d get to come all over those gloves. Every time Shaw worked out she’d be reminded of Root and the unspeakable things they did and _holy crap_ , look at her shoulders.

Shaw widens her grip on the bar and in so doing, the curve of her deltoids and the juncture with her shoulders and neck are thrown into sharp relief, and screw fisting, wall sex is clearly the priority here. Let Shaw be pissed at her, let her shove Root against the wall and hoist her up and fuck her anger out, let Root cling to those shoulders as she rides out wave after wave of searing pleasure -

“Are you gonna stand there ogling me all day, or what?”

Shaw’s voice cuts through Root’s fantasy, which is probably just as well given the situation that’s developed between her legs and her inability to do anything about it.

Bear’s head turns toward Root and dismisses her just as quickly as she takes a step forward, but Shaw gives no further reaction other than another rep with the weights. Slower this time, and Root wonders if she’s finally reaching the end of her endurance. She lost count somewhere around the slope of Shaw’s breasts. “Sorry,” Root says, taking another step. “You can’t blame a girl for looking.”

“There’s a difference between looking and leering, and I can guess which you were doing.” Shaw’s voice is remarkably strong despite her exertion, and Root would be quite put out about that if it were anyone but Shaw. She steps into Shaw’s field of vision and Shaw’s eyes narrow when she sees her. “The fuck are you doing wearing a dress in this weather?”

Root refrains from commenting that it could be a balmy seventy degrees outside for all Shaw knows, or probably will know for a long time coming. “You’re not the only one who can use their feminine wiles to get into secure vaults,” she says breezily, picking at the edge of her loose dress and letting it flop back down. “Worried I’ll catch a cold, Shaw?”

Shaw snorts and lifts the weights into the air again, slow and steady, and Root tries to refrain from staring too much. She realizes she never had a plan for how to approach Shaw; maybe she should have been thinking about that instead of fantasizing about angry sex. That probably would have been more constructive.

“I thought maybe you’d want some space, after…”

The weight bar rattles back onto the rack as Shaw drops it in place, a harsh metallic clatter that makes Root wince. “After you drugged me? Again?”

Root studies Shaw’s face but can’t make anything out of it. “After I drugged you and saved your life. Are you taking your anger out on the weights?”

Shaw huffs and turns her head away, considering the bar. “Figured if I’m going to be benched, I might as well bench.” Root bites back a smile at that, and Shaw picks at the bar with the fingers of one hand, idly pulling down at it and making her muscles flex in what Root swears must be some sort of test. Finally Shaw sighs at Root’s continued silence and lets her hand drop down onto her chest.

“I’m not pissed at you, Root. You made the right call. I’m pissed at all…” Shaw flings her hands out in the air, encompassing the room with a frustrated gesture, “this.” Her arms fall limp and dangle over the sides of the bench, fingers dragging on the floor. “I’m pissed at John running around with Elias like a dumbass. I’m pissed at that blonde bitch who tried to kill me. I’m pissed at Samaritan for being such a ripoff of all apocalyptic sci-fi ever, and I’m pissed at Greer for being such a pompous accented bastard.” Shaw’s brow furrows as she squints at the ceiling and taps her fingers on the floor. “I mean, he is the _worst_ , just… the _worst_ , has he ever actually _watched_ any movies in his life? This shit never works out well for the arrogant asshole who tries to control the world.”

Root tries not to smile at Shaw’s ramblings, she really does. But the little huff of air she lets out when she’s done is unspeakably adorable, and Root knows she has too much affection in her voice when she speaks up but does it anyway. “But you’re not pissed at me.”

Shaw’s fingers go still and her neck cranes to stare blankly at Root. “Really. That’s what you got out of that?”

“I prefer to focus on problems I can do something about.”

There’s a pause as they take each other in, Shaw’s expression blank and Root’s just barely holding back a probably insufferable grin. “No, you’ve somehow wiggled out of this one. Like always.” Shaw rolls her eyes at herself as she turns her attention back to the weight bar. “But I am kind of pissed about _that_.”

The weights rattle again as Shaw wraps her hands around the bar, gives it a test heft, and lowers it onto her chest. Root walks around the bench, coming to a stop at Shaw’s feet and admiring the view from this angle. Shaw eyes her warily as she steps forward, bracketing Shaw’s body with her legs.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Root watches the rise and fall of Shaw’s chest along with the rhythm of the weights and shrugs like it should be obvious. “You need a spotter.”

“Then you should be on the other side.” Shaw’s head jerks behind her and Root watches a bead of sweat trickle down her throat. She’s definitely going to lick that soon.

“Oops. Guess I’ll just watch instead, then.” Root flashes Shaw a winning grin and settles herself down on Shaw’s hips with a flourish of her dress, unable to resist rubbing herself against the heat of Shaw’s skin under the guise of getting comfortable.

“Jesus,” Shaw breathes, and lets the bar fall back onto the rack. Her eyes flick between Root’s face and the meeting of their bodies, where she’s apparently just become as fully aware of Root’s enjoyment of her workout as Root has. “How long were you standing there watching me?”

“Long enough.” Root moves her hips in a tight circle, letting Shaw feel the extent of her wetness through her underwear. “I got some really great ideas about how to put those guns of yours to work, do you want to hear them?”

“I can take a guess.” Shaw’s hands fall to Root’s hips and urge her up, scooting herself down the bench so she’s not lying under the bar. Root resettles on her waist and promptly leans down to kiss her before Shaw can do anything to the contrary. 

Shaw kisses her with the same passion she’d had on their first night together, full of breathless energy and wandering hands and suddenly it’s like they hadn’t been talking at all, that Root had gone straight from fantasizing about Shaw’s arms to being wrapped in them and grinding herself against Shaw’s toned stomach in a frantic need for friction. She can taste Shaw’s sweat in the salt at her lips, feels it in the dampness at the back of her neck as she tangles her fingers in Shaw’s hair, smells it in the hollow of her throat as she bites her way down Shaw’s neck. She’s absolutely drowning in Shaw and there’s something wonderfully primal about the way they’re already lost in each other and scarcely able to breathe.

The velcro on the straps of Shaw’s gloves scratches along Root’s thighs as Shaw’s hands slip under her dress and Root tears her mouth from Shaw’s skin to let out a gasping moan at the press of fingers against her clit. Shaw doesn’t bother teasing; her fingertips rub rapid circles through her underwear as her other hand smacks almost experimentally against Root’s ass. Root moans into her mouth at the sting of her skin and arches her back to slide a hand between their bodies and palm one of Shaw’s breasts beneath her tank top. 

Her fingers tighten their grip on Shaw’s breast through her bra at every smack against her ass and their kiss is more of a haphazard mess of lips and gasps for breath but Root can’t focus on anything other than the heat of Shaw’s fingers and the fire spreading across her backside. She lets out a whimper at the pleasurepain of Shaw’s hand against her surely reddened skin and Shaw rumbles out a groan of her own and finally slips her fingers beneath Root’s underwear.

The rough material of Shaw’s gloves against her clit makes her twitch and Shaw’s fingertips dip inside her for an all too brief moment before returning to circle around her clit as the hand on her ass switches to a staccato rhythm of close, quick slaps and that’s it, at least one of her fantasies is becoming a reality. Root’s body shudders and her head falls to Shaw’s shoulder as she comes, spasms working their way through her and forcing a wanton cry from her lips, and she can only imagine the state of Shaw’s glove after this. Soaked and smelling of Root and oh god, what if Shaw wears them while working out and thinks about what they’ve done and gets herself off - 

Root lets out another moan at the thought and presses herself against Shaw’s fingers as her orgasm subsides. The hand on her ass falls away and Root’s hum against Shaw’s lips turns into an undignified yelp at the press of cool metal against her heated skin. She realizes it’s a knife as it slips beneath the fabric of her underwear at her hip and Root groans and bites Shaw’s lip as it slices the material easily in two.

“You have a knife hidden under your weight bench?” Root gasps out, a shiver running down her spine as the point of the blade traces down her leg.

“I have knives hidden everywhere.” The knife clatters to the floor as Shaw yanks Root’s underwear down her other leg and seizes her by the hips. “Come on,” she breathes, pulling Root forward. “I need to - ”

They share a moan at the touch of Shaw’s tongue, Root having scarcely gotten settled on her chest before Shaw craned her neck and pressed her mouth against her. There’s not enough space on the bench for Root to rest on her knees and she knows she’ll end up collapsing if she tries to hold herself up in some sort of squat over Shaw’s face so it’s all she can do to rest against her sternum and grip at the weight bar in front of her. She’d rather not suffocate Shaw but that seems to be the furthest thing from Shaw’s mind as her lips play at Root’s wetness, the tendons in her neck straining as she keeps her head lifted in place to devour her.

Shaw’s hands grip at Root’s hips to keep her still and Root can’t help but trace one of her hands along the muscles in her arm as her hips jerk unwittingly and force Shaw to work to hold her in place. Shaw’s mouth makes obscene sounds between her legs and Root wishes she had thought to include a recording device in her cochlear implant because Shaw’s continued moaning at the taste of Root is easily the most intoxicating thing she’s heard in her life and god, what she wouldn’t give to preserve it in more than her memory.

The muscles under Root’s hand shift and she feels Shaw’s hands wrap around her wrists and pull them behind Shaw’s head. She takes the hint and holds Shaw’s head in place, pulling her closer and fucking herself on her face, her throat bared to the ceiling at the building rush of pleasure. A hand wraps around Root’s back to steady her, causing Root to become sharply aware of the pain of her stinging ass, and her hips jerk and probably choke Shaw a little but Shaw’s only reaction is another moan from deep in her chest and a gasping breath before she wraps her lips around Root’s clit.

Except apparently that’s not Shaw’s only reaction; Root feels the hand not at her back brush past her thigh and becomes aware of a rhythmic motion behind her at the same time the rhythm of Shaw’s tongue falters, and Root glances back to see Shaw’s hand shoved down her own shorts.

“Fuck,” she breathes, and feels more than hears Shaw’s hum of agreement. Root leaves one hand, fingers splayed, on the back of Shaw’s head and trails the other down her arm, letting her fingers wrap loosely around the flexing muscles and tendons of Shaw’s forearm. Shaw’s pace quickens and there are teeth pulling at her flesh and a tongue flicking against her clit in the same desperate rhythm she can feel beneath her fingertips and Root’s stomach clenches and she stutters and draws Shaw against her as she comes, and Shaw follows soon behind as she tilts her head back and lets out a gasping moan, Root still grinding herself against her chin.

And if Root thought Shaw had looked irresistible when covered in workout sweat, clearly she hadn’t gotten a good enough look at her the last time they did this. Root’s breath catches for a moment as she takes in the sight of Shaw disheveled and sweat-drenched and her face glistening in the wake of Root’s orgasm, and Shaw barely manages to move her arm out of the way before Root has slid back down her chest and pressed her mouth against Shaw’s.

Her hips idly circle against Shaw’s, leaving a patch of wetness on her shorts that Shaw will probably glare at her for later, but it’s worth it for the way her body twitches beneath her through the kiss. Root’s tongue shamelessly seeks out her taste on Shaw’s lips until Shaw lets out a muffled huff and pulls away.

“If you start licking my face you’re gonna end up on the floor with a busted ass.”

Root smiles beatifically down at her. “And after you treated it so well.”

The sound of ripping velcro echoes through the room as Shaw strips off her gloves, and she gives Root’s ass a light tap as her hands slip back under her dress to rest at the small of her back. Root bites her lip and Shaw’s eyes shine bright. “So you’re into that, huh?”

“I’m into anything as long as you’re involved, sweetie,” Root sighs, and leans back down to press a languid kiss to Shaw’s lips.

Shaw allows the kiss for long, blissful moments, until a hand at her chest gently pushes Root away with a sigh. “I can’t stay useless down here forever, you know.”

Root sits up, tracing her fingers along Shaw’s ribs. “I know. But in the meantime,” she suggests with a wiggle of her hips, “I think we’ve found a nice way to expend your energy.”

“I’m serious, Root.” Shaw stills her with hands at her waist and Root tries to breathe through the flash of dread that fills her at Shaw’s expression. “This isn’t what I do. I don’t… hide.”

She says the word with considerable distaste, and Root gives her a small smile. “I know. You need to be out there.” Root’s palm comes to a stop over Shaw’s sternum, her pulse still coming down from their workout. “I promise you, we will find a way. Just - give us some time. Please.”

Shaw clenches her jaw and stares at Root for several breaths, until finally she nods. “Fine. But you’re going to owe me big time.”

Root lets a grin overtake her. “I think we can work something out.”

Shaw returns the smile with a slight quirk of her lips and as Root bends down to kiss her, Bear perks up and bounds out of the room, claws scattering along the floor in his excitement. At Shaw’s raised brow, Root leans back and tilts her head.

“Try not to throw me onto the floor, Shaw, but I think Harry brought you back something from Park’s Deli.”

Shaw’s eyes light up and Root only just manages to stumble to her feet as Shaw pushes herself off the bench and heads down the hallway. She takes stock of herself, rumpled dress and hair, underwear lying discarded on the floor, and she knows Shaw left in a much more disheveled state than this.

Root smiles and follows in her wake. There’s no hiding what they’ve been doing, and she doesn’t want to miss Harold’s face when he realizes it.


	2. Chapter 2

The subway station is dim, unnervingly quiet; but although Root knows nobody has gotten around to fixing any of the lighting, somehow even through the stillness of the unmoving shadows, it seems just a little bit brighter around the edges than it has been in a long time.

Harold is away, John is working a case with Lionel, the Machine is still barely able to speak, and despite all that, Root is not alone.

She smiles to herself, a lightness filling her chest and opening her lungs and for the first time in nearly a year, she feels almost able to breathe. She lets her boots echo on the floor as she makes her way through the station, and can’t help but close her eyes as she approaches the gym. 

Her footsteps fall quiet and she opens her eyes to find Bear lying under the weight bench, ears perked up at her presence, and he blinks at her before settling his head back down and continuing his watch of the entryway. And there above him, lying back on the bench with the weight bar gripped firmly in her hands, is Shaw.

Alive, intact, lifting weights in the same clothes with the same gloves like nothing at all had ever happened since the last time Root had seen her here, _Shaw_.

“Thought I might find you here.” 

The bar wobbles for a moment, and Shaw lets out a breath before carefully lowering it back to her chest. “Yeah, well, all my shit atrophied while I was gone. Not much use like this, am I?”

Root steps closer, coming around to stand where Shaw can see her, in front of the weight rack a few feet from the bench. There’s a familiar look of determination on her face as she raises the bar into the air again, and Root notes there’s only two small, identical weights on either side of the bar. Forty or sixty pounds, then, and still Shaw’s arms tremble as she lowers the bar and lets it rest on her chest as she breathes.

And now Root can’t help but see all the ways this image is wrong, so off from her memory of Shaw now that she’s scratched the surface and is no longer in shock at her mere presence. Even though her hair is matted with sweat Root can tell it is shorter and thinner than it should be, and Root can clearly make out far too many regrowing patches where it had been shaved away. The sloping curves along her shoulders and upper arms are gone, and her legs are far too thin. Her tank top hangs loosely around her stomach, her shorts are somehow baggy around her waist and have slipped down to reveal pointed hip bones and a large scar.

Root’s fingers tighten around her midsection, the nails digging into her flesh; she had sworn long ago that she was going to burn Samaritan into the ground, but that’s too good a fate for it. She’s going to have Greer’s head, and Lambert’s, and Gabriel’s too -

“Hey, Eeyore.”

Root starts at Shaw’s voice. Shaw is watching her impassively, and when Root’s eyes meet hers she taps her hip and jerks her head.

“C’mere, I need a spotter.”

Root chokes back a sudden hysterical laugh; or maybe it was a wrenching sob and she’s about to fall apart all over Shaw, she really can’t tell. She swings a leg over Shaw’s hips and settles down on her thighs and swallows and nods at Shaw’s questioning look. Her hands fall to Shaw’s stomach and she feels it clench as Shaw lets out a breath and hoists the weight bar into the air.

She watches as Shaw works through a few more reps, her breathing steady if labored and her jaw clenched as her arms shake. Root’s eyes are drawn to the scar at her fingertips, a long raised line trailing along her navel and up her abdomen, disappearing beneath her shirt. Trembling fingers trace a path alongside the scar, and Root bites back a cry when she pushes the material aside and finds a rounded, angry scar under Shaw’s ribs.

“Is this…” Root swallows, knowing the answer and wishing she could snap Martine’s neck twenty times over.

“Yeah,” Shaw strains out as she struggles with the bar one last time and drops it onto the rack. She brushes her hands together and lets them splay out to the floor, her stomach rising and falling rapidly with her breaths under Root’s hands. “Turns out, Samaritan operatives don’t know shit about triage. They sewed that up without taking out the bullet and had to tear me open again when it got infected. Their doctors aren’t worth shit either, unless they’re trying to get into your head.”

Root glances up sharply at that, and Shaw pushes her fingers away when she reaches out to Shaw’s scalp. “What did they do?”

“They never got as far as radical brain surgery with me,” Shaw says with wry smile. “I guess I was mostly out of it for half the time they had me, after their botched surgery. Then it was good old fashioned torture for a couple months, then a month or two of truly pathetic brainwashing, an electrode here and there…”

Shaw must see the way Root is struggling to breathe and cuts herself off, dropping her hands onto Root’s knees. “Hey,” Shaw says softly, too softly, when has Shaw ever acted like Root is this fragile? What did they - 

Fingertips squeeze at her skin and the dull throb of pain makes Root’s lungs stutter and gasp and brings her back to reality. “I’m out, okay? I got out. Most of it healed up a long time ago and the rest is just details.”

Root draws a steady breath through her nose and gives Shaw a slight nod. Her gaze falls back to her fingertips and the comforting warmth of Shaw’s skin and she bites her lip as she draws her hands higher, pushing Shaw’s tank top further up her chest.

“I’m not in the mood for sex right now, Root.”

“Neither am I,” Root agrees, tracing the path of another mark just under Shaw’s sternum for a long, quiet moment. The tank top bunches together under Shaw’s arms when Root shoves it further up her torso, and Root takes careful note of the movement of her abdominal scar as Shaw sits up enough to shrug it off her shoulders.

There’s another gunshot scar near her clavicle, just to the side of the strap of her sports bra. Root's fingers reach out to it but are forestalled by the humor in Shaw’s voice.

“That’s an old one, you’ve seen that already.” Shaw shifts on the bench and pulls down the strap of her bra opposite the scar Root had been staring at, revealing a faintly shining patch of new skin. “This is the second one. Through and through, even Samaritan’s doctors couldn’t fuck that one up.”

A huff of a laugh escapes Root’s lips and her fingers brush against Shaw’s as she circles a fingertip around the small scar. Her hand falls to the back of Shaw’s shoulder to urge her up, and Shaw leans forward with a hand at Root’s back and her head pressed against Root’s chest as Root examines the exit wound on her back. It’s a little larger than the other, the skin a little more puckered, but it’s soft and clean and warm, about as much as Root can hope to ask for. Her hands slide along the expanse of Shaw’s back, seeking out any more new marks. 

Her fingers dance along Shaw’s ribs and she finds a few other scars, and as she wonders what would have created them she realizes she had never gotten the chance to map out Shaw’s skin, had never cataloged each crest and valley and mar on her flesh, and for all she knows every single mark on Shaw’s body could be new, courtesy of Samaritan. And it’s all Root can do to keep from breaking down into a snotty, sobbing mess in Shaw’s hair at the overwhelming heat of her skin and the tickle of her hair and god, even the smell of her sweat, Root used to _hate_ the smell of sweat-soaked people but somehow with Shaw it always seems right and good and _wonderful_.

Shaw clears her throat, a rumble that tickles Root’s chest and makes her pull away. Her hands fall back to Shaw’s stomach when Shaw wiggles out of her grip and relaxes back on the bench, eyeing Root. “Do I pass inspection?”

“It should have been me,” Root blurts, and promptly winces at herself.

Shaw’s eyes narrow. “You know that wasn’t gonna happen.”

“You kissed me and locked me in a cage where I had to watch you get shot down.” Root hadn’t been planning on bringing this up right now, or anytime at all in the near future - or ever, really. She’d spent almost a year seeing Shaw lying in a pool of blood every time she closed her eyes and she would really rather not think about it for a second longer now that Shaw is back. But she opened her mouth and words fell out and now Shaw’s eyes are hard as they stare up at her like she’s an idiot. “You shouldn’t have - ”

“No.” Shaw pokes Root in the ribs. “It was either you or me who was gonna get John and Finch out of there and get Fusco back to his kid, and I was the logical choice.”

“So kissing me was the _logical_ choice?” 

“It was punch you or kiss you, figured you deserved the punch a little less.” Shaw shrugs a shoulder, her voice entirely too glib.

“I could have done it.”

Shaw’s expression tightens like she’s never heard a more asinine thing in her life. Root pouts at that. “They’d have killed you, Root. They’d have cut that thing,” Shaw’s hand reaches up to Root’s right ear, “out of your head, and killed you, and made us all dead.” She pokes Root in the stomach again, harder this time. “And you know, somewhere in that stubborn idiot head of yours, that I’m right.”

Root knows she’s right. She’s known Shaw’s right since Maple and abandoning the Machine and spending days in a derelict tenement working through every conceivable thing they could have done in those thirty seconds - and she’s refused to acknowledge it for just as long. If Shaw was the only choice then there was nothing Root could have done, no way she could have saved her, and Root was always going to be the one left behind.

“You didn’t know how many of them were coming, or how many bullets they had,” Root absently shakes her head, eyes fallen closed. “It was reckless, and - ”

“Oh, please,” Shaw scoffs. “You want to play the reckless card? _You_?”

“What?” Root asks, a little defensive. “It’s not reckless if you’ve got an artificial superintelligence in your ear.”

“On the list of people who are reckless with their lives around here, it goes Finch,” Shaw holds her hand out near the bench parallel to the ground, then raises it an inch, “Bear - ”

“Actually, Harold poisoned himself to keep me from killing his friend while you were gone.”

Shaw stares blankly at her, judging her sincerity, and sucks in a breath. “Okay, it goes Bear, Finch.” Her hand raises a foot or so above her chest and jerks her thumb toward herself. “Me. _John_ ,” she says, raising her hand as high as it will go. “And then there’s you. You see that spot up there?”

Root’s eyes follow Shaw’s finger through the air where it points at a stain on the ceiling.

“That’s you.” Shaw’s eyes widen expectantly, and Root tilts her head, conceding the point. “Don’t tell me not to be reckless when I’m saving the lives of the few people I give a shit about, when I know full well you almost walked off the edge of a high rise to try to find me.”

“Sorry.” Root wonders when she learned that, and who she’ll have to taze for telling her. “I’m sorry,” she repeats, and shrugs helplessly. “I thought I was watching you die.”

Shaw tosses her hands up in the air and Root’s skin stings when they fall back onto her thighs. “What do you want me to say, Root? That I’m not gonna risk my life to protect my team anymore? I won’t make that promise. This is what I _do_ , Root. Nothing’s gonna change that.”

“I know,” Root says, a watery smile twitching at her lips. Shaw wouldn’t be Shaw if she didn’t put her life on the line to save people, and after all this, after losing her and giving up on her only to catch a fleeting glimpse and being left to wonder if she’d been turned against them, and finally getting her back and feeling her here, now, alive and breathing and so warm and real right under Root’s fingertips - after all that, she can’t ask Shaw to be anything other than who she is. “I just… Really don’t want to go through all that again.”

“That makes two of us,” Shaw says flatly, and Root laughs. Root actually laughs, light and breathless, and she thinks she sees a hint of satisfaction in Shaw’s eyes before they turn serious again. “Look, Root. I can’t promise I’m not gonna get shot saving your collective asses again. But if it’s at all in my power to keep you from getting hurt, I will. All right?”

Root nods, lightly tangling her fingers with Shaw’s on her thigh. “Okay.”

“And you.” Shaw breaks her hand free and jabs Root in the stomach. “Maybe be a bit less reckless, huh? Bring it down somewhere I can touch, at least.”

Root’s vision goes blurry and she blinks it away, swallowing thickly as she leans forward and rests her hand on Shaw’s chest. Her heart beats under her palm, steady and strong, a firm reminder that _she’s-here, she’s-alive._

“Okay, Sameen.”


End file.
